Good As Dead
by TheLoneReed
Summary: Why can't you just let him go? The question bombarded her innermost thoughts, shaking the very foundations of her love for that one Brooklyn newsie who'd swept her away in a whirlwind of emotions. For the newsie who'd just as quickly abandoned her.


The sky was crowded with thick, billowing black clouds that seemed to fill every crack in the vast stratosphere. Blue light that would otherwise have wavered dreamily in the air had given up the fight and hidden from view, allowing the overcast day that had barely reached mid-afternoon to appear as late evening, simply a prolonged wait for nightfall as the angry atmosphere entranced all of New York City. The air smelt damp and musty, a constant warning of the rain that swelled and stretched the skin of the clouds to their bursting point, shaking within its confines as it waited impatiently to tear open the seams and angrily pound upon the city below. Lightning split the sky in half with a startling crack and trembling pedestrians winced as their shoulders jumped up further on their neck, refusing to drop and relieve the tension welling up in the muscles. A low and distant rumble of thunder mocked a growl from a far away beast, the hairs on its back bristling as it itched with anticipation to come bounding into the streets, destroying everything in its clumsy path without a care.

As uneven splatters of rain fell on the heads of the peddlers, wenches, members of a higher society, and the newsies that provide the very throbbing heart of this story, one newsie's feet dragged a bit more than the others, their heart hanging in a weak and fragile sling low in their chest, aching to break free of the exhausted confines that held it back with the last of its diminishing fortitude. Her hair which might have had the potential to be thick, velutinous, and aureate had been subjected to the cruel conditions and the simple brutality of New York, and, along with the rest of her body, hung limp and lifeless past her shoulders, the dull yellow color void of any incandescing glow or sheen and the tangles that had become most permanently ensnared in its mass apparent despite its annoyingly thick composition. The greasy waves stopped in rough and uneven levels and lay with a lack of life on her mid back, the dirty strands resting against her even dirtier checkered shirt, the boxes which at one time might have been vibrantly red, white, and brown, were now so filthy that the bland dye had faded to an extreme and the white had become a dirty egg color tittering on the edge of a speckled beige, the red and brown were so much alike in pigment that the only difference was the feeble shade of hopeless cherry the red squares clung onto, but even they knew it wouldn't last much longer.

The top buttons of the collar had lost the need to serve their purpose and where the pale skin of her chest would have shown the coverage was exceeded an inch due to her sooty white undershirt, the barely recognizable shade smudged with dirt and grime. Her black suspenders were shopworn and tattered, but served their purpose in holding up her gray tweed pants. The smoky color was flecked with black and the cloth was loose around her thin legs and dragged along the once tough but now haggard and flimsy material of her black boots. Torn and scuffed from years of labor, the shoes squeezed and pinched her feet and left them callused and raw.

But all of this, all of which encompassed her body and clothed her held nowhere near the fatigue as she herself did. Her young, fourteen year old face was drawn and tired with grubby, charcoal smears on her cheeks and hands. Her blue eyes had lost all vitality and scintillation; the lids looked as though lead weights were pressing down upon them and it was a struggle just to keep them from closing forever, as it would hold such sweet relief. She carried herself as one who had been defeated indefinitely, and to her, such was the case.

For it was one boy who, in the midst of all the sluggishness and dreariness of who she was, had given her her very soul back. He had given her something she believed to have lost forever and she would never forget that. Better yet, she would never forget him. Bringing love and compassion he was to be a lifelong obsession with her, and someone she could now merely watch from behind a looking glass, helpless and pathetic to his actions and the way he went about life. He had come and given her the world, and just like that, as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone and her world flickered and went out like a light. A tragic story, as you can probably already tell, and one of a satisfaction never to be fulfilled.

He had entered her bleak life the way all great loves do: bringing hatred and loathing. They had become sworn enemies from the very start. She found him to be pompous, egotistical, and all around overbearing. He believed her to be formidable, rude, and completely closed minded. Weeks and months passed and daily quarrels between the two became a routine known among all those who lived in Brooklyn, and even those in other areas. A spitfire and a hopeless romantic were they, she throwing insults with wit and a stinging bite, he countering her with his knowledge and slandering remarks that made reference to things she and the rest of New York that had been denied a true education would never understand.

Slowly their fights dwindled and they grew to acquire a sort of peculiar friendship, unconventional compared to more 'normal' ones but all the same fully functional. As time went on they put their pride aside just enough to realize everything they had in common, all the hopes, dreams, and morals that they shared. Shocked as they were, they accepted it with an eerie calmness and simply allowed it to draw them closer until even the Jaws of Life couldn't separate the two. Friends marveled at how they could stay up hours into the night...just talking. They talked about everything and nothing, on many occasions at the same time. And as inside jokes and secret grins formed, so did feelings that both denied whole heartedly. They were friends, best friends, and that's all they would ever be. Any such feelings were unethical, unheard of, and undoubtedly stupid to feel for each other as they were like brother and sister.

However, like friendship overcame their fighting, so did their hearts overcome their shyness. They were no more brother and sister than Stalin and Hitler, though of course 1899 knew no such names. When they finally gave in and decided to humor their fleeting hearts they became even closer, the conversations became longer, and small kisses and hand holding were thrown in along with the jokes and smiles. It was sickening and yet heavenly and it seemed with each day their feelings for each other grew stronger until one day it happened. They were in love. They knew it and all of Brooklyn knew it, but it took a hell of a time for them to admit it. Moving too fast wasn't an option and fear of the sentiment not being returned was too great.

But finally, amid confusion and timidity, the words were said. Not only were the words said, but they were returned. Never had such ecstasy rushed through the veins of the two in such a strong, unstoppable current. As summer blossomed so did their love, and sooner than they thought it had become so strong nothing and no one could break it. But as in all relationships, there has to be hurdles for the couple to overcome. And as in some relationships, it's quite hard to make it over...and they fail. Such was the case in this relationship; however it didn't fail because of a lacking in love, or a weak commitment, or anything of the sort. The two were meant to be and that was fact not folly. But even fate can be disrupted by stupidity, and stupidity just happens to be a very popular characteristic in those that are human.

Her mind recalled all this with a great variety of emotions, permitting a sad smile for the happy memories, and allowing her expression to dim and mournfully recoil into a look of drooping fatigue ready to give out any moment into an endless obsidian abyss. The heavy stack of soggy and ruined papers rested, forgotten, on her sore and sagging shoulder, and without a thought her hand slid off of where it lifelessly held the diminishing tower together, falling at her side and swinging dumbly in the numb relief her muscles felt as the newspapers toppled off of her with just a few more steps that she took, splashing into the newly formed puddles and sinking into the wetness. They were useless now, perfectly good money wasted, a symbol of the everlasting poverty in New York. The ink had snaked its way from the paper and was a black, heartless stream that wavered only for a moment before gliding slyly along the paved road like black blood. Her chin was sinking lower and lower and her eyelids wilted with fatigue as she walked on, the papers, along with everything else, immediately vanished from her memory. She was almost...home? No, not home. She had no home, she wanted no home. She was almost to the Brooklyn lodging house and that was all it would ever be to her.

As her leaden feet sloshed up the dirty rain that continued to pitter harshly on the city, she concentrated on nothing, as that was what she was best at. Ever since he had left her, ever since he had been erased from her life, she found she could do nothing but concentrate and she had forced herself not to. As long as she thought of nothing, as long as she thought of how empty her eyes felt, like hollow sockets, and as long as she pretended his name wasn't etched into the back of her eyelids so that it burned into her mind every time she tried to close her eyes, as long as she did all that...she was safe, wasn't she? Safe. Safe from what? Safe from allowing the plush pink breath of emotion to spread all over her icy white heart? Safe from remembering the face of her mornings and the playful goodbyes of her nights? Safe from love, is what she was safe from. But along with that, she was safe from life.

After what seemed like a second and an eternity the soles of her feet were forced to adapt to the empty façade of the few wooden steps leading up to the decrepit porch of the lodging house. Her hand that had abandoned the dull task of swinging back and forth at her hip and lay still now lifted itself heavily to grip the frigid knob of the door. She twisted it slowly and clenched her teeth together just a smidge more, pushing the weight of her body forward and knowing that while the door remained stationary that moment, as the milliseconds passed it was budging tiny bits at a time. At last the rectangular mass jerked past its blocking and swung open. Her fingers dropped off the handle as it moved away from her and hit the wall finally, starting to make its way back but falling short after a few inches. She moved forward silently and listened to the first squish of her foot as it stepped on the somewhat dry floorboards on the foyer, the damp wood stomped upon by the overlapping footprints that showed signs of a frenzy of boys trotting in from the rain outside to get to the comfort of their bunks and while away the hours playing poker and downing a few bottles of gin.

Her numb fingers fumbled with her hat, pulling it off and letting it fall onto one of the few empty hooks that were filled with the coats and cabbies of the other house members. She collected her sopping hair into a ponytail and pulled it onto her shoulder, wringing it out and scrunching her eyes just barely when the sharp sting of the chilled water ran down her neck to her arm and all the way to her hand where a few droplets dared to cling to the still tips of her fingers before dropping off and splashing on the ground. She released her bundle of now dark locks and felt it thump onto her back once again but she paid it no mind, instead kicking the door closed gently and basking in the finality of a distinguished border between her and the outside world. Her boots were heavy with rain but still she hauled them up the flight of stairs until she reached the second landing and her ultimate destination.

The raucous sounds of the crowd within the confines of the bunk room she was about to enter played softly in her ears and she moved forwards, heaving a two ton sigh before pushing the door open. A burst of noise met her ears as soon as she did and she nearly winced from the force of it. Hardly anyone looked up from what they were doing to notice her arrival, whether that was from lack of care of the knowledge that she wouldn't be one to put up a great conversation to say the least she didn't know, but fortunately she didn't really care. Her bunk seemed ages way but as her feet carefully plotted out a course, weaving in and out of the drunken and rowdy newsies until she at last found her bunk. Its location in the room and belongings bestowed upon it were really the only things that distinguished it from the hoard of beds surrounding it, but the remembrance of how good it felt to lie down was all she needed to convince her to collapse onto the mattress.

She let the dull roar of the boys around her deaden inside her mind and simply closed her eyes, the weight of her boots sinking into the weak mattress. The sound of the rain dancing upon the roof was the only one she would allow into the empty stream of wind inside her head, willing it to be the lullaby which drifted her off to sleep. However it merely lulled her into a sense of false security as it was no sound she could ignore when a pair of strong hands gripped her shoulder and shook her up and down a few inches. She opened her eyes and her ears seemed tom pop, yelling and laughter filling her ears once again and she groaned in exhaustion. One of her closer friends, Spot Conlon, the leader of Brooklyn to a few numskull cities she supposed, was hovering above her, staring down at her with his hands still clamped on his shoulders and his ever-present sarcastic smirk plastered on his face.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." he said in a teasing voice, his smile widening. "You didn't think I'd just let you come in without telling me how fabulous your day was, did you?" his feigned enthusiasm was almost sickening but seemed to amuse a few boys who had tuned their ears in and listened before chuckling and turning back to their previous tasks.

Fighter, who happens to be our main character if you haven't already guessed, which you probably haven't, groaned once again and gave another loud sigh. "No, of course not. Why would you possibly do that?" she murmured sarcastically, reluctantly propping herself up on her elbows to may it at least _look _like she was willingly giving part in this conversation. "Shouldn't you be off in your room jacking off or something, Conlon? I can't imagine you'd detour from that just to talk to me." She arched her eyebrows at him calmly, resting her weight on her arms slowly.

"Of course not! What do I look like, crazy? No no no, I just came in here to carry you off to join me. Last time you were such a livewire I just couldn't pass up the chance to inquire if we could repeat history." Spot, never the one to be caught off guard was always ready with a quick response and Fighter was too exhausted to put up much more of a fight in winning this playful battle.

"That'd be a no, Spotty boy. I'm too..." she paused, holding back her next weak comeback and shaking her head, looking up at him. "Tired. I'm just too tired, Spot." Her eyes looked mournful as she gave a forlorn shrug and leaned forward, stabilizing herself before reaching forward and starting to unlace one of her boots, the discomfort of the wintry water around her feet starting to bother her immensely.

Spot frowned slightly and furrowed his brow, letting the cocky teasing friend of Fighter step aside to make way for the still prideful but somewhat understanding one. "Ya' gotta let 'im go, Fi. It's been two months since ya last seen 'im and I don' think he's comin back. I mean...ya told him not to, dat's kinda the only incentive I think he'd need, ya know." He gave a small chuckle but his face still showed worry for his friend.

One boot was off and kicked to the ground and she made herself busy untying the other one before answering him, staring hard as her fingers clumsily made progress among the loops and holes of her shoe. "Yeah, I got it. I got it two months ago when it happened. I aint as dumb as you'd like ta believe, ya know. And I aint waitin' for him to come back if dat's what you're thinkin' cuz dat's the last think I'm waitin' for. In fact, I aint waitin' for anything at all so if you would just shut the hell up for once and leave me alone I'd greatly appreciate it!" Her voice was soft but her words came out biting and harsh and she angrily kicked off her boot, sending it sprawling across the floor and under one of the other boy's bunks. She gave a huffy murmur of exasperation and flopped back down on the bed, gritting her teeth and acting as if she didn't notice the angry look on the leader's face as he stonily stared at her.

Just as she was about to bark at him to get on with what he was about to say already he shrugged in defeat, starting to pull back. "If yous aren't waitin' for anythin' den why are yous acting like dis, huh? Yous walk around like a zombie and don' talk to anyone and ya barely eat. I've nevah seen you dis unhappy before, is all, Fi. Why can't ya just let 'im go?" Innocent a question as it was, it was never a question one can answer so simply and this was no exception to the rule.

She let her gaze drift down to the end of the bed where the thin fabric of her dingy socks that were full of holes showed her pink feet rubbing against one another slowly, trying to create at least a little bit of heat. She watched this tedious process for a moment before looking back up at him, eyes sorrowful but strong nonetheless. "He hurt me, I know he hurt me, it's not like I missed it, Spot. He lied ta me and den he left me, it aint like I forgot. But ya know...he tried to come back and he tried to make it right and I pushed him away wit all me might. I told him ta leave so many times, threatened him wit so many things and he just kept tryin'. He wouldn't give up. And den I told him he was nothin' to me...that our relationship was just a fake and so was the love dat I had nevah and would nevah feel for 'im. I told him ta get lost and dat I nevah wanted to see him again...and he left." She bit the inside corner of her lip with her canine, lifting and dropping her shoulders against the fabric in a resigned shrug. "I loved 'im, though. And he loved me, I knew it then and I know it now....and it aint like it don't hurt to think o' what he did to me or what happened...but what if I nevah find dat again? Cuz I know I won't, Spot. I aint nevah gunna find anyone who loves me dat much...and dat's why I can't let it go...cuz a memory's better than nothin', right?" She finished softly as though she were asking the question to herself and Spot wasn't even there, though neither knew the answer.

Spot rubbed the back of his neck with his hand a bit awkwardly and nodded, starting to stand up from where he was hunched over her bed. "Yeah, but...Josef's gone, Fighter. He's gone and ya can't let 'im affect you like dis...because da way you're actin; yous as good as dead." He sighed softly and patted her arm gently before gripping the cane in his belt loop and moving through the room once again to mingle with his lodging house members and partake in the nightly ritual of getting himself as drunk as possible.

Josef. Yes, that was him. The boy who had come, made his mark, and left without a trace when all his efforts seemed to go to waste. She missed his name. She missed laughing it and yelling it and whispering it in his ear. She missed all of that but it was no use now. Spot's words stuck in her mind like a thick mixture that just wouldn't be digested. _Yous as good as dead._ Was she? Was she as good as dead? That's the way she felt most often and that was certainly the way she acted...like a melodramatic and hopeless romantic who went around proclaiming the world had ended with their pouting cheeks and big, miserable eyes. Should she change the way she was acting? Maybe go out and find him...or try and move on perhaps. But for Spot to say she was as good as dead was a horrible thing to- "It's not worth it, so shut the hell up, thoughts, before I pour three gallons of alcohol into my system." she whispered, rolling over, closing her eyes, and falling asleep...for in the end, what else can you do? The world would go on spinning whether she was happy or not and frankly, she didn't care enough to change that. But at least she had a memory, and that was better than nothing, right?

* * *

Okay, so, I started this a while ago when my boyfriend and I took a break and kind of changed the course of the story recently. It may be a masterpiece and it may be a pile of crap, but you can be the judge of that, my friend. But for me to find out...please please PUH-UH-UH-LEASE review and tell me what you thought. Have a hey-howdy-hey day and brighten up a smile! Oh...and try never to say anything that cheesy.

Swing Heil

Randy


End file.
